King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

She backs toward the bed, and now I’ve changed my mind. I like the tiny size of this room. There’s nowhere for her to go.

In one step, I’ve caught her.

“Stefan!” she protests, when I flip her over and push her belly down on the bed. “Don’t!”

“Don’t what?” I ask. “Whip your pretty little ass for disobeying me? I’m sorry, little girl. I think you’ve woefully underestimated me.”

In one quick tug, I rip the little dress and it practically disintegrates in my hands. A firm hand on her lower back pins her in place and with the other, I snap the folded leather across the fullest part of her ass.

“Ow!” she howls. My dick’s a steel rod at the sight of the red stripe on her creamy, gorgeous skin. I lash her again, and again, ignoring her mewls and howls of protest. The way she wriggles beneath me makes me even harder, but I don’t let up. This little girl is going to learn that I mean what I say, if I have to take my belt to her every damn day.

“You’ll obey your daddy,” I tell her. “Am I clear?” Our mission is urgent and deadly, and I won’t let her strong sense of justice and fearlessness endanger her life.

“Yessss,” she wails, as I whip her again, the thwap of leather and her protests making me almost lose my resolve. “Yes, daddy.”

I bring the belt down three more times in quick succession, red stripes lining her pretty skin.

“Will you ever go against my instruction again?”

Thwap.

“No, daddy,” she wails. “I’m sorry, daddy!”

“This matters, Taara,” I lecture. “This fucking matters.”

She howls when the leather falls across the crease at the top of her thighs. “I know,” she moans.

“Then please, Taara. Never again. You’ll do what I tell you.”

Thwap.

“You’ll trust me to take care of you.”

Thwap.

“Do not disobey me.”

She’s mewling little protests into the bed and nodding her head. She’s had enough. I lay the belt down beside her and run my hand along her heated, reddened skin. She still bears the marks of the caning I gave her, and now my belt. At first, she flinches and moans, until she relaxes into my touch. Allowing me to make it better.

I massage her tender skin, my palm cupping each of her ass cheeks as I rub out the burn and sting. My cock’s aching for release, straining against the zipper of my pants, but I need to tend to her. A daddy’s job is more than enforcing rules. I have to be sure she’s okay.

“Come here,” I murmur, turning her around and lifting her up into my arms. I cradle her to me and walk to the head of the bed, sitting down and holding her to my chest. I rock her, whispering soothing, calming words.

“I don’t care how urgent you think it is,” I tell her. “You don’t know the evil some of these men are capable of. How easily they would end your life.”

And as I hold her to me, rocking her back and forth in consolation, I know. She’s more than my charge. I’ve cared for Taara for as long as I remember, but not in this way.

I love this woman. Love her.

“How could I have found out what I needed to?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“You could’ve trusted me to find out. Or told me who I needed to speak with. I could have at the very least orchestrated you talking to the girl without the danger of someone accosting you.”

She doesn’t speak at first. “I suppose that would’ve worked,” she finally admits with a sigh, and I actually laugh.

“I suppose,” I concede. I sigh. “Taara. When I saw you were gone, I thought the worst.” I close my eyes, remembering when I realized. I looked to my left, then my right, and over every inch of the small, private room before I heard a commotion near the bathroom. And when I saw that asshole breaking down that door, I knew. I fucking knew she’d be in there.

I kiss one cheek, then the next. She took that spanking without shedding a tear. Taara is my brave girl.

She watches me, wide-eyed, her eyes bright and damp.

“You thought the worst?” she whispers. “What do you mean?”

“That you were gone,” I say, my voice choked. “That someone hurt you. These men are capable of terrible evil, Taara. They don’t even think twice.”

Her eyes drop to my chest, and she runs one finger along my shoulder, as if testing to see if I’m real. That she didn’t make this up. Like she’s fantasized about this very moment.

“They are,” she whispers. “Which is why I want to defeat them.”

“I’m not an innocent,” I tell her. “I’m not a good man. But I will do whatever I need to protect you.”

“You killed that man because you had to,” she says, her voice stronger now. “If you didn’t—”